


Shelter in a Hopeless Place

by igrockspock



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Emotional Manipulation, Ethical Dilemmas, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 11:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9605435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock
Summary: Bodhi Rook was a local boy from Jedha.  He'd kept dozens of trivial secrets for Galen and twice betrayed anti-Imperial sentiments.  He was perfect for the mission.  There was just one problem: Galen didn't want him to leave.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ninj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninj/gifts).



Bodhi started keeping Galen Erso’s secrets the day he arrived at Eadu base.

Nobody wanted the Eadu cargo runs, least of all Bodhi The landing approach gave adrenaline junkies wet dreams, and made everyone else -- Bodhi included -- shit their pants. Worse, Eadu was a godforsaken hunk of rock in a godforsaken arm of the galaxy, and worst of all, the scientist in charge was rumored to be almost as hard to satisfy as Lord Vader himself. On the bright side, he never executed his subordinates for trivial mistakes, but that was the _only_ bright side.

If Bodhi had been another pilot, the outgoing, gregarious type with loads of friends and a girl waiting for him off-base, he would’ve gotten a huge sendoff: Corellian brandy, Phibian beer, and an epic hangover to complicate his morning run. Since Bodhi wasn’t that type of pilot, he cleaned out his locker and vanished from Kuat Drive Yard without a trace.

***

The day Galen Erso had watched the final pieces of the thermal exhaust port welded onto the Death Star, he stayed up all night contemplating the ideal defector. Escaping himself was out of the question; he was watched too closely, and even if he managed to escape, the Empire would launch a galactic manhunt immediately. He needed a pilot, he decided, someone who could fly off with their own transportation. Someone with mediocre evaluations, few friends, and little family -- in other words, someone one who would not be missed. Eventually, after hours poring over pilot’s dossiers, he found the right one. Then he spent months dismissing cargo pilot after cargo pilot till he got Bodhi Rook assigned to Eadu base.

***

On his first day at Eadu, Bodhi stood at attention at the nav console while Erso inspected the manifesto personally. His gaze drifted over the cockpit, over Bodhi, over the whole of the shuttle as if he were looking for something. Then he dropped down into the cargo hold, taking the rungs of the ladder two at a time, and weighed the niobium himself.

“I control every aspect of this project, right down to the cargo pilots,” he said, stopping his frenzied activity to look Bodhi in the eyes. “If there is _any_ discrepancy between what I ask for and what I receive -- _any_ at all -- I will hold you personally responsible. If you can’t handle that, tell me now.”

Bodhi contemplated asking for another assignment. But the damned Imperial training forced him to respond before he even finished the thought. “I can do the job, sir,” he said, still at full attention.

And then Erso did something unexpected: he smiled. It was quick, but that only made the effect more dazzling. Then he patted Bodhi on the shoulder. “Of course you can,” he said. “I picked you myself.”

Bodhi blinked. “You did, sir?”

“Certainly. Reliable, ahead of schedule, hardworking. Exactly what I need.” Then he pressed something into Bodhi’s hand. “And never let it be said I don’t reward my subordinates for a job well done.”

Bodhi looked down. A slender, gold-wrapped bar of pressed Kessian fruit lay in his hand. “I-I can’t accept this sir,” he said, his mouth going dry. “It’s not allowed for the enlisted men.”

The Empire had banned luxury products among the rank-and-file troops; they encouraged corruption and decadence and numerous personality flaws the Empire wanted to stamp out. Or _claimed_ to want to stamp out, at any rate. 

But Erso only patted Bodhi’s shoulder again. “Then it will have to be our secret, won’t it?” he said.

And just like that, Bodhi kept his first secret for Galen.

***

Galen wondered if he’d laid it on too thick, if he should have bided his time before handing out presents. Earlier in the year, he’d tried to ingratiate himself with another pilot. She’d reported the gifts right away, and Galen had been forced to lay low for months till Krennic believed he only wanted sex.

After that, he’d sworn he’d take this one slow, but he didn’t have _time_ , not with the project running ahead of schedule in spite of his best efforts. So he laid it on thick and hoped for the best, and he saw the hungry look in Bodhi Rook’s eyes when he said _I picked you._ Nobody had said that to this pilot, not for a long time, maybe not ever. He wished he felt guilty. He would have, if he were still a good man. But what was a little manipulation compared to everything he’d done?

***

Bodhi had been at Eadu for a week when the aroma of fried dough drew him to the mess hall. It was 22:00, too late for the kitchen to be open anymore. The only person inside was Commander Erso, hunched over a table in the corner, eating something from a flimsy white bag.

Bodhi meant to walk away and leave the Commander in peace. Instead, he blurted, “Is that _lokma_?” Then he remembered himself, and added a hasty “sir.”

Erso grinned, a little smile that faded from his eyes almost as soon as it appeared. Bodhi thought absently that the Commander wasn’t used to smiling. But he seemed genuinely happy when he held out the bag and said, “You know _lokma?_ Help yourself.”

“I grew up in Jedha, sir,” Bodhi said, pulling one of the honey-covered dough balls from the bag. “Have you been there?”

Erso nodded and scattered a few more _lokma_ onto an extra napkin, which he slid across the table to Bodhi. “Beautiful place,” he said. “And excellent cuisine. Do you have much family there?”

“Just my mother. My cousins left when the Empire --” Bodhi cleared his throat and took a sip of water, trying to pass off his abrupt hesitation as a cough. 

Erso nodded, looking genuinely pained. “Things have been difficult since the kyber mining operation began, I know.”

“We all make sacrifices for the Empire,” Bodhi said quickly. The official phrase tripped off his tongue easily; it had been drilled into him during his first days in the Imperial Army.

“That we do,” Erso said, his eyes going dark. He squeezed Bodhi’s wrist and pushed the half-empty bag of _lokma_ across the table. “Please. The rest of these are yours. Share them with your friends.”

***

Galen already knew where Rook was from, of course. He would have been a fool not to exploit it. A local boy, someone who could slip unseen through markets and alleys to find his way to Saw -- Galen could hardly believe his luck.

He hadn’t cooked in ages, not since Lah’mu. He could still see the Lyra’s brightly colored pots cluttering the cooktop, the big wooden spoon lying on the counter… He cut the thoughts off quickly, before he could picture Jyn sitting at the breakfast table. All of this, everything he’d done, was for her, he reminded himself.

Cooking came back to him easily at least. He’d always been good at it -- he used to tell Lyra it was just another form of chemistry -- but he lost the taste for it when he had no one left to cook for. He caught himself smiling as he watched the dough balls brown in the pan, but he restrained the impulse quickly. He wasn’t doing this for fun. He had a mission.

***

Bodhi spent the next few weeks delivering Erso’s finicky, impromptu requests. Time and time again, Bodhi would collect the last cargo from some obscure base, only to discover the yellow message light blinking on his console just before take-off.

 _Need 1,246 ⅞ cm bolts,_ the message would say, or, _get me 436 additional grams selenium._

Bodhi wanted to protest. Scrounging up last-minute supplies was not his kriffing job. If Erso didn’t understand how the Empire’s supply chain worked after all these years, that was _his_ problem, not his favorite cargo pilot’s. The day he received the ridiculous bolt request, he almost said exactly that. Instead, he slapped restraining bolts on a couple BB-8 units that had the misfortune to roll past his shuttle. Then he set the ship on autopilot and spent the entire flight disemboweling their carcasses for bolts. 

When he landed on Eadu, the shuttle was strewn with the droids’ remains. Bodhi fully intended sort them into their constituent parts and box them up as insurance against future unreasonable requests, but Erso arrived before he could even start cleaning up.

Bodhi knew he looked mutinous. He didn’t care. He _dared_ Erso to complain about sloppy housekeeping and theft of Imperial property. He _wanted_ to give that asshole a piece of his mind, no matter what little reward he planned to dole out for a job well done.

“You found the bolts, I take it?” Erso asked, looking faintly amused.

“Found?” Bodhi asked. “ _Found?_ ” His voice was rising hysterically, but he didn’t care. “If by _found_ , you mean I stole and disassembled two astromech droids? Just like last week I stole 436 grams of selenium from another cargo hauler just to please your whims? As if the Empire wouldn’t give you whatever you wanted if you would just kriffing _ask_ for it a few hours in advance. Do you ever think what will happen to me if I get caught on your little supply runs? I’ll wind up on Wobani for stealing droids, but the Force knows nothing will ever happen to you.”

Bodhi’s pulse was pounding in his ears and he felt a vein twitching in his forehead, so he didn’t realize what he’d done until Erso said, “Well, may the Force be with you then.”

The blood drained from Bodhi’s face. “Sir, it was only an expression. I didn’t mean --”

But Erso cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Galen, please. Surely we’ve known each other long enough.” He pulled a bottle of Corellian brandy out of his bag, followed by two glasses, and motioned for Bodhi to sit down. “My wife believed in the Force too, you know.”

“Believed?” Bodhi asked quietly, seizing on the distraction.

Commander Erso -- Galen -- nodded. “She was executed. By Director Krennic’s guards, actually. Right in front of me.”

Bodhi let out the breath he’d been holding. Maybe he wasn’t in trouble after all. “I’m sorry, sir. Galen, I mean. I’m sorry, Galen,” he murmured, stumbling over the name. A superior officer had never invited him to use his given name before. 

They were sitting on a bench in the cargo hold, and their knees were almost touching. Galen wrapped a hand around Bodhi’s wrist and squeezed. When he pulled back, Bodhi’s skin felt cool.

“Do you know that’s the first time anyone’s said that to me and meant it?” he asked.

***

Galen knew what he should do. Bodhi had passed every test. He stuck with missions that were difficult and demanding, he’d twice hinted at anti-Imperial sentiments, and he’d kept a half-dozen trivial secrets. Now was the time to persuade him to carry the message, but there was a new problem: Galen didn’t want him to go.

***

When Bodhi returned ahead of schedule from the next cargo run, Galen passed him a bag of _lokma_ with the usual injunction to share it with a friend.

“Alright,” Bodhi said, and held out one of the dough balls to Galen. His heart was beating faster than it should have. Who was he to call an Imperial officer a friend? But other than Galen there was no one who _could_ be his friend.

Galen stared at the _lokma_ for a moment. He swallowed hard before he took it from Bodhi’s outstretched hand. 

“It’s been a long time since anyone called me that,” he said with his usual sad-eyed smile. He shrugged. “Well, there are plenty here who would claim to be my friend. But only one who actually _is_.”

His eyes locked on Bodhi, and Bodhi felt something clench in his stomach. He hadn’t had a friend in a long time, not after what had happened to his brother and everything that came after.

“Do you believe in the Force?” he asked. It was an audacious question, but since Galen had brought it up yesterday, he couldn’t stop wondering about it. Not because of the Force specifically, but because it had been so long since he’d heard anyone talk about anything other than prescribed Imperial doctrine.

Galen shook his head. “Any technology sufficiently advanced appears to be magic,” he said.

Bodhi almost choked on his last _lokmah._ “That’s from a book. I remember it. My mother had it on real flimsy even. The Empire made her burn it.”

“ _The Skeptic’s Guide to the Galaxy,_ ” Erso supplied quickly. “It used to be recommended reading at the Science Academy. The Empire certainly appreciated the skepticism about the Force. Of course, that was before the author took that damn fool stand on academic freedom and got himself executed.”

“But you remember it?’ Bodhi asked, unable to suppress the eagerness in his voice. He’d thought he’d carry his mother’s stash of forbidden literature to his grave. He’d never imagined he’d find himself discussing it _here_ of all places, with the Empire’s highest-ranking scientist.

Erso nodded. “I did love it. Of course, that didn’t stop me from deleting the file when the Empire banned it.” He stretched out his legs and leaned back on the cargo bench. “But enough about me. What about you? Do you believe in the Force?”

Bodhi shook his head. “No. My brother was the family believer.”

“Was?” Galen asked, echoing Bodhi’s question from their last conversation.

“He died in Wobani,” Bodhi said. “The other Guardians of the Temple resigned, but he refused.”

“And the Empire allowed you to enlist in the army?” Erso asked, raising his eyebrows.

“The Emperor is merciful and forgiving,” Bodhi murmured. By which he meant he’d been allowed to enlist because the Empire’s ranks needed filling, and he’d been willing to denounce his brother for the easiest ticket off Jedha.

“Do you really believe that?” Galen asked.

Bodhi’s mouth went dry. Galen had slid closer and closer on the bench, so gradually that Bodhi hadn’t even noticed it happening. Now they were sitting almost hip-to-hip. He knew he ought to pull away and parrot some line from his training, but he couldn’t -- or he didn’t want to, in any case. He wanted to keep the feeling the warmth of Galen’s thigh next to his. 

“It doesn’t really matter what I believe, does it?” he answered finally, surprised at the bitterness in his voice. “I almost joined the Resistance after my brother died. Saw Gerrera is based on Jedha, you know. But my mother begged me not to go. Said she couldn’t stand to lose two sons. Just save yourself, she said, whatever it takes. My first detail was flying prisoners to Wobani. I’d fly in and see whole lines of them marching across the wasteland. Every run, I’d think _I could just fly off with these prisoners, never look back._ But I didn’t, did I? And now here I am, bringing you the parts to build something. Something awful, I know it. But _life_ isn’t merciful or forgiving, so I don’t know why I’d expect the Emperor to be.”

The words tumbled out in a rush, and Bodhi was breathing hard by the end. Angry tears threatened to spill out of his eyes, and when he looked down, his fingers were twined through Galen’s. They were close now, close enough that he could’ve leaned his head on Galen’s shoulder. He could see the hitch in his breathing, watch the pulse jump in his throat. 

Galen licked his lips. His eyes darted around the shuttle, avoiding Bodhi’s gaze for a long time. He looked like a man torn in two. Suddenly his fingers clenched tighter around Bodhi’s.

“You’re right. Life isn’t kind.” His fingers lit gently on Bodhi’s jaw, tilting his head up. “But maybe we can be kind to each other.”

***

Galen had failed. He’d spent a decade manipulating the Stardust project, inventing excuses for missed deadlines, building flaws into the plan. Months agonizing over how to get his message out, searching for just the right pilot to carry it away. Against all odds, he’d found him. He’d already known about the brother, the temple, the forbidden literature. Bodhi was perfect, the conversation had gone exactly according to plan, but in the end, Galen had been weak.

 _Life isn’t kind_ , Bodhi had said. 

Galen had prepared a speech for exactly that sort of opening. He’d rehearsed it over and over again in his quarters, blaring music and running water to drown out Imperial eavesdropping. _Life isn’t kind,_ he should’ve said. _It forces us into responsibilities we never wanted, choices we never thought we’d have to make. You and you alone have the opportunity to save billions of lives, perhaps at the cost of your own. But it will be worth it in the end._

Instead he’d lost himself in the gentle pressure of Bodhi’s lips against his, and the demanding fingers suddenly clenched around his hips. Both of them were out of practice, that much was obvious. It was fast and rough where Galen had meant for it to be tender and slow. But afterward, they’d curled together on the shuttle floor, reveling in the warmth of skin and against skin. It wasn’t love, only comfort -- but it was enough to keep them intertwined on the shuttle floor, until pink and gold light slanted through the windows and Galen had to return to the base before someone mounted a search.

Now he tossed and turned in the silk sheets the Empire had bestowed on him. Galen knew he could ask Bodhi to carry the message tomorrow. What had happened this afternoon would only make him more likely to acquiesce. But the words died on his lips the next day, and the one after. What right had he to ask Bodhi to risk his life on some fool mission that would only fail anyway? Galen had done what he could. His years of tiny delays had no doubt saved millions -- maybe even billions -- of lives. Now he could walk away with what little sliver of happiness the galaxy could offer him.

But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Jyn’s disappointed face in his head.

***

One week into his affair with Galen Erso, Bodhi realized he didn’t believe in happy endings. In his experience, the Empire _always_ invaded your planet or locked your brother away or forced you to deliver prisoners to the very work camp where he died -- usually just when you were starting to believe life could be normal again. But Bodhi’s unease wasn’t just his usual lingering sense of dread. Galen’s attraction just didn’t make _sense_. Why would a famous Imperial scientist be interested in an anonymous cargo pilot? How did he always seem prepared with exactly the right thing to say?

While Galen lay sleeping in the shuttle’s tiny bunk, Bodhi carefully disentangled himself from his arms and yanked Galen’s bag closer. His datapad slid out, and Bodhi scooped it up from the floor. It was locked, of course -- but only thumbprint locked, and Galen lay just a few centimeters away. He’d already flung his arm around Bodhi again. Without thinking about it, Bodhi seized Galen’s thumb and pressed it against the screen. Its bright light cut through the shuttle’s darkened interior, and Bodhi tensed, but Galen kept snoring.

He didn’t feel guilty, he told himself. Something _was_ wrong, he knew it. Just because he was a nobody, a cargo pilot from Jedha, didn’t mean he had to be grateful for Galen’s attentions, much less stupid about them. He deserved answers.

Most of the files were vast columns of numbers and equations, incomprehensible and irrelevant to their relationship. He’d almost given up -- what had he thought he’d find on Galen’s datapad anyway? -- when something caught his eye. BR823585: his Imperial ID number. He flicked the file open, and there was his dossier, all highlighted in yellow. His hometown, his brother, Wobani -- it was all there. Galen had known. Galen had always known.

He slid out of bed, pulled on his clothes, and walked out into the night.

***

Galen awakened to an empty bunk and a knot in his stomach. Bodhi’s side of the mattress was cold. The shuttle was empty.

He tried to tell himself that Bodhi’s disappearance meant nothing. He’d received an order, gotten a message from home, needed to stretch his legs. All perfectly innocuous. Still, he couldn’t suppress his unease as he gathered his belongings from the floor. Only long years of practice made it easy to walk back to the base in careful, measured steps.

From his quarters, he transmitted an innocuous message. “Mr. Rook, I’d like to speak with you about the next cargo shipment at your earliest convenience.”

There was no response.

***

Director Krennic had arrived on base yesterday. The door to his office was so polished that Bodhi could see his reflection in it. His own eyes stared back at him, large and distorted, as he stretched a shaky finger toward the door chime.

He’d practiced the words in his mind a dozen times. Maybe two dozen. _Director, I have something to report. An officer has made advances on me, showered me with forbidden gifts. I believe he planned to ask an inappropriate favor of me. I was weak to accept his attentions. Let me make amends by telling you now._

His finger trembled. What should he feel guilty for? Galen -- Dr. Erso -- had manipulated him from their very first meeting. Everything he’d said was a lie. 

Except the sadness in his eyes.

Bodhi dropped his hand and backed away from the door. Self-loathing washed over him, but he continued down the corridor, away from the director’s office. He had been weak to join the Imperial Army, weak to carry prisoners to the place where his brother died, weak to fall into Galen’s arms. And now he was too weak to turn Galen in.

***

Galen leapt out of bed at the sound of his door chime. It was Bodhi, no question. Krennic and his flunkies would never have knocked. He yanked Bodhi inside by the wrist and pushed him back against the wall. Bodhi stiffened, eyes wide, and brought his hands up to defend himself.

“Please,” he murmured, and Galen hastily clamped a hand over his mouth.

At that, Bodhi looked even more panicked, reaching up to claw feebly at Galen’s face. 

“ _Stop it_ ,” Galen said, summoning every ounce of condescending officer he could muster. His stomach twisted at how quickly Bodhi obeyed. He leaned in close, and Bodhi flinched. “It’s alright,” he whispered, lips centimeters from Bodhi’s ear. “Listen to me. My quarters are bugged. We can talk in the ‘fresher.”

By now, opening all the taps and blasting music at full volume felt routine. If it didn’t work, he would’ve been arrested long ago. But Bodhi was still trembling. He stood uncertainly in front of the shower door, fingering the zipper of his flight suit. Galen shook his head and shoved his hand away roughly.

“I’m not expecting that,” he snapped. Then he softened his voice, trying to remember the character he’d played with Bodhi. “Just tell me what’s troubling you.”

Bodhi looked away. The sound of pouring water almost drowned out his words. “It was all a lie.” 

Galen stepped in front of him. “No,” he said heavily. “Not entirely.”

Bodhi shook his head. “I’m not stupid, you know. I’m no one. I get that. But it doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I read your datapad. You knew everything about me, before we even met.”

Galen’s shoulders sagged. His stupidity was astounding. He’d taken Bodhi for a fool and jeopardized his whole mission.

“Tell me what it was for, at least,” Bodhi said. He swallowed and clenched his jaw. “Tell me or I’ll report you. I don’t - I don’t even know what for, but I know they watch you. I know they’d want to know.” His resolve melted and he stared down at the floor again, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Was it all just a game?”

Galen looked away. “I’ve been a weak man, Bodhi. I’ve been lonely here --”

Hope flared in Bodhi’s eyes. “And you thought you had to do all that to seduce me?”

Galen shook his head. “No, not for that.” His heart was thumping, and his stomach clenched. He’d been so close. And now his mission was spoiled. For what? A few nights of comfort. “I need you to carry a message,” he forced himself to say.

Bodhi looked confused for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Treason. You’re asking me to commit treason, aren’t you?”

Galen shook his head. “Treason to whom, Bodhi? The Empire who murdered your brother? It is they who betray you.”

“I won’t do it. This is all more of your manipulation,” Bodhi said, his voice rising. He tried to step around Galen, but Galen caught his shoulder.

“They killed my _wife_ , Bodhi. They killed my wife and took my daughter and they’ll do it to billions more. If you want to stop it, if you want to do something for your brother and every other man, woman, and child in Wobani, carry this to my daughter.” He’d worn the diskette around his neck for weeks. Now he slipped it off the chain and pressed it into Bodhi’s hand. “I won’t lie to you anymore. I won’t ask you to do anything but follow your own conscience. If you want to be more than you are right now, carry that message to Saw Gerrera. If you don’t -- if all you care about is saving what little you have here -- turn me into Director Krennic. The choice is yours.”

He looked away, and in that split second, Bodhi ran out the door.

***

After his brother died, his mother deleted all the holos. Bodhi had run around the house in a panic, trying to save them, but his mother only shook her head.

“They have to believe we’re on their side,” she’d said, prying the memory disks from Bodhi’s hands. “If they don’t believe it, they’ll take you too.”

The terror in her eyes made Bodhi acquiesce. A year later, in a drawer under his bed, he’d found one last holo. Dust had corrupted the memory chip, so his brother’s face was blue and wobbly, but he’d carried it with him all these years just the same.

Now Bodhi unearthed the disk from the bottom of his bag. He stared down at the smiling face of his lost brother and made his choice.


End file.
